


wish that you were me (so you could feel this feeling)

by zcinmalik



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Fix-It, Future Fic, Grammy Awards, Love Confessions, M/M, Reconciliation, Zayn Leaves One Direction, trapped on a roof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zcinmalik/pseuds/zcinmalik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis stares for a moment. He takes in the way that Zayn’s eyes are wide with surprise, the way that he’s grown his hair out a bit again, the way that he’s got a cigarette halfway to his mouth but has frozen in that position. </p><p>Louis stares just long enough to register these things, and then he comes back to himself. He sneers pointedly and turns to yank the door back open again. </p><p>It doesn’t open. Louis jiggles at the handle, puts his weight into it, even bangs on the door with his hand a few times as though that might help, but the door has locked behind him. </p><p>And Louis is officially trapped on a roof with Zayn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wish that you were me (so you could feel this feeling)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Zouis Week](http://zouisweek.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> I'm so grateful to [Astrid](http://wong-direction.tumblr.com/) for sweetly encouraging me to write this and being willing to look over the draft. Any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Inspired by [this post](http://zoutiful.tumblr.com/post/127031989267/im-gonna-parent-trap-zouis) and the [trapped on a roof](https://youtu.be/WM4lFG_8kIc?t=420) scene from Studio 60. A couple of other inspirations involving spoilers are listed in the endnotes. 
> 
> FYI: In this fictional future, 1D release their second post-Zayn album in late 2016, around the same time that Zayn releases his debut solo album. Subsequently, the two albums get nominated and are up against each other for the Grammy awards taking place in February 2017. 
> 
> The events presented here are fictional. Please don't share this with any of the real people mentioned or referenced. Thanks! 
> 
> Title is from Beyoncé's "Jealous."

“And we’re back on the Red Carpet of this year’s Grammy Awards, where you can see I’m surrounded by none other than One Direction!” Bryan Bahn beams at the camera. “Gentlemen, you are first-time nominees here at the Grammys, _and_ you’ve been nominated in five categories. Were you surprised at the critical attention your album has received?”

“Yes,” Liam says instantly. “I mean, we put a lot of work into _Promise_ , because we wanted it to be the best we could make it for the fans. But we honestly had no idea that we’d end up here tonight.”

Louis tunes the proceedings out a bit as he nervously taps his fingers against his legs. Liam is right in a sense, but is also being a bit modest in his estimation of how hard they worked on the album. Louis knows their nominations are well-deserved.

“Now _this_ truly amazes me,” Bryan says, and Louis feels himself tensing. Bryan has a look in his eye that Louis has become all-too familiar with. It happens right before someone’s about to bring up—

“In the categories of Record of the Year, Song of the Year, and _Album_ of the Year, you’re competing with your former bandmate and fellow nominee, Zayn Malik.”

Louis is suddenly smiling so sharply and pointedly that Niall seems to notice from his peripheral vision, because he promptly leans forward and starts joking. “Wait, we’re nominated for Album of the Year?”

Bryan laughs good-naturedly, but won’t be deterred. “Louis, since Zayn left the band, there’s been at least one major public conflict between the two of you, and speculation of anger and resentment between Zayn and the whole group. What was your reaction when you realized you’d be competing for this year’s top awards with him?”

Everyone starts to talk at once, with the other three boys clearly looking to head trouble off at the pass.

Louis finds himself grinding his teeth together, still making a too-bright facial expression that probably isn’t fooling anyone. He hates that they act like they have to babysit him, as if at any minute he’s going to launch into a tirade in front of _Entertainment Tonight_. Hasn’t he kept it together for years now? Hasn’t he proven that he can maintain a public facade?

Annoyed with the line of inquiry and feeling dangerously reckless, Louis interrupts Harry’s long-winded explanation of how much good will he has for Zayn.

“Well, I’ve got to run. Boys, Bryan,” Louis says in the best faux pleasant voice he can muster. Everyone turns to him, and he catches the various levels of surprise, dismay, and (in Bryan’s case) fascination in their faces. Louis nods at the camera sharply. In the long moment of silence that he’s elicited, he makes an about-face and walks away.

By the time he makes it to closest bathroom, Louis starts to register that he probably just fucked up, though not as badly as he might have if he had stayed for more talk about that subject. Storming off while being asked about his former bandmate won’t exactly look stellar for their “no hard feelings, best of luck” image. Not that anyone needed implicit confirmation from Louis to believe that tonight was going to be an epic battle between One Direction and Zayn Malik for the soul of music or some shit like that. As soon as this year’s nominations were announced, entertainment media became utterly consumed by the story. Bryan Bahn’s questions were positively tame compared to some of the others that they had gotten, but tonight, when Louis’ nerves and emotions were already all over the map, he couldn’t manage to sit it out.

Louis kicks at a stall door and it bangs loudly against the tile walls.

* * *

 

“Of course,” Jennifer Day says, grinning between Zayn and the camera. “You are up for seven awards this evening, including New Artist and Album of the Year for your debut solo album. And the only thing people are talking about more than _Nothing Changed_ is that hit single ‘Closure.’ There has been _so_ much speculation by fans about which person— or group?” she inserts, faux coyly— “that song might be about. Care to clarify?”

“You know,” Zayn says immediately, the lie well practiced. “People will sometimes think music always comes from whatever’s happened most recently or most publicly in a person’s life. But honestly, for me, making this album was about connecting to those sort of universal experiences that we deal with our whole lives, right? I wanted the album to be something that everyone could relate to.”

Jennifer seems disappointed but unsurprised to have gotten the same answer Zayn always gives to that question. She quickly moves on. “You had so many amazing collaborations in _Nothing Changed_. Who was the artist you were most excited to work with?”

* * *

 

“Lou, what the fuck?” Liam insists quietly, under the sound of some pop star’s boyfriend washing his hands. He cornered Louis while he was still freaking out in the bathroom, and now there’s no escape.

“What?” Louis snaps, because he’s nothing if not in the mood for a fight.

“You confirmed everything they’ve said about a feud with Zayn, and then ditched the rest of us to do damage control.” Liam crosses his arms. “You couldn’t’ve just smiled and kept quiet? You had to pick tonight to walk off?”

Louis barks a laugh. “Right, because this wasn’t already about One Direction versus Zayn Malik. Nothing to see here until I left instead of simpering for them. Not like every other question we get is about _him_.”

Liam shakes his head and waits until the other guy finally ducks out of the bathroom. Then, lowly, he asks, “Are you ever going to move on?”

Louis isn’t sure if it’s the frustration or the pity audible in Liam’s voice that makes him more angry.

“Right, I’m sorry,” he says in the deadliest sickly-sweet voice he can muster. “I forgot that I should take his fucking cheap shots on Twitter—”

“ _Christ_ , Louis, it was two years ago!”

“— lying down like a good boy because I’m supposed to be thinking of—”

“Oh, so you call mocking his friend ‘taking it lying down,’ do you?”

“— the image of the band that _he left_!”

Liam takes a step forward into Louis’ space, not threateningly, but impatiently. “You need to stop pretending that what happened between you and Zayn was about the band.”

“It was always about the band!” Louis shouts, his voice hoarse in comparison to Liam’s calm, low tone.

Liam stares into Louis’ eyes for a moment, then abruptly takes a step back again.

“I can’t believe you still actually think that,” he says simply, with that disappointment that only Liam can articulate. Without giving Louis time to respond, he turns on his heel and walks out of the bathroom door.

* * *

 

As he splashes water on his face and the back of his neck, unable to bring himself to care that it’s wetting his jacket, shirt, and tie, Louis thinks that the worst thing about tonight won’t even be his televised mini-fit.

The worst thing is that Louis is unwaveringly certain that Zayn is going to win in every category he’s nominated for. He knows because he’s lost count of the number of times that he’s listened to that fucking album.

Louis storms out of the bathroom. Niall and Harry are stationed outside of the door and look hesitantly in his direction, as if they’re unsure whether or not they should try to stop him.

“Go inside,” he barks without looking at them. “I’ll be there soon, just get in there.”

They start to have a silent conversation with each other that Louis ignores. He slams every door that he goes through, shoving angrily at the handles and getting wary looks from everyone he passes. He has to get out of this fucking building.

Louis finally gets to an exit and ducks out. He storms a couple of blocks away, finding an unobtrusive office building that will be all but empty on a Sunday night. He needs a cigarette and he needs to have it away from anyone who might see him and want to talk. Stalking through the hallways, he spots a sign that says ROOFTOP and follows it straight up five steep flights of stairs.

He finally reaches the rooftop door, exits through it, whirls around, and slams it behind him. Louis takes a few seconds to catch his breath, taking in the surprisingly cool afternoon air. Finally, still glaring at the door, he starts to fumble in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Um… hey.”

Louis turns sharply before he has time to think about it.

Standing right behind him is Zayn Malik.

Louis stares for a moment. He takes in the way that Zayn’s eyes are wide with surprise, the way that he’s grown his hair out a bit again, the way that he’s got a cigarette halfway to his mouth but has frozen in that position.

Louis stares just long enough to register these things, and then he comes back to himself. He sneers pointedly and turns to yank the door back open again.

It doesn’t open. Louis jiggles at the handle, puts his weight into it, even bangs on the door with his hand a few times as though that might help, but the door has locked behind him.

And Louis is officially trapped on a roof with Zayn.

“What—?” Zayn starts, but Louis cuts him off.

“Just shut up,” Louis snaps, forcing the words out through gritted teeth as he refuses to turn from the door. He puts all his weight into pulling at it. It doesn’t move.

“Um,” Zayn says angrily, and there it is. He’s no longer confused, he’s finally caught on to at least part of the situation. “I’m not the one who fucking barged out here, am I? And what the hell are you doing?”

Louis rolls his eyes and starts looking around the roof for another door. “Trying to find some way away from you, obviously.”

From his peripheral vision, Louis can see Zayn impatiently grind his cigarette out under his shoe. Zayn then moves in Louis’ direction, and Louis debates standing his ground or moving out of the way to ensure that they don’t inadvertently touch each other. He ends up scrambling away just in time as Zayn reaches purposefully past him and toward the door handle.

“Just stop dicking around and—” Zayn freezes as he tugs at the immovable door.

“Yeah, turns out the door’s locked, genius,” Louis says, unable to resist getting a jab in even as he pulls his cell phone from his pocket. He punches at Liam’s number without really thinking about it, from some ingrained instinct that pushes him to call Liam in a crisis.

“Where are you?” Liam shouts over the background cacophony.

“I’m trapped on a roof!” Louis yells, and Zayn turns away from where he had been blankly staring at the door to glare at him. Louis flips Zayn off as he adds, “You need to send someone to find me right now.”

“What? I can’t—” Liam starts, and then goes abruptly silent.

“Liam? Liam!”

The call ends. Louis, undeterred, thumbs open his texts and the most recent group message with the boys. “SOS STUCK ON A ROOF COME FIND ME NOW.”

Agonizingly slowly, the “sending message” bar starts to crawl across the screen. Louis starts pacing the roof, trying to find a better spot, but he still gets three undelivered messages a minute later. He tries to tell himself that throwing the phone over the side of the building would be a bad idea.

“Well then?” he finally snaps, whirling on Zayn.

Zayn already has his phone out and to his ear. He makes an annoyed face at Louis and then says, “Anne?”

Louis holds his breath for a moment.

“Anne? Anne, can you hear me? Wh—” Zayn pulls the phone away from his ear and looks down at it. “Fuck.”

“No,” Louis growls. He storms back to where he was and starts pounding with everything he’s got on the locked door. “HEY!” he roars, and feels his fists start to sting as he keeps smashing them against the metal. “OPEN THIS DOOR!”

“This is not fucking happening,” Zayn mutters, and Louis ignores him. This is going to be over soon. Someone is coming. Liam is sending someone to find him or someone is going to hear him doing his level best to break this door down with his bare hands. No reason for them to prolong communication with each other while they wait for rescue to arrive.

Louis keeps pounding on the door, alternating now between his fists and his palms, since both are starting to ache. From his peripheral vision he can tell that Zayn is still struggling with his phone, fingers dancing over the screen. Zayn makes increasingly frustrated noises as the “failure to deliver” notification keeps going off.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Zayn says a minute later. He stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “Enough, Louis, just stop.”

Hearing Zayn say his name makes Louis launch an even more furious attack on the door. He kicks it heavily and immediately doubles over in pain at the searing jolt that goes through his foot.

“ _Fuck_!” he roars. He feels Zayn take a step closer, and before Zayn can even think about getting into Louis’ personal space or touching him, Louis warns, “ _No_.”

“L—” Zayn cuts himself off. A long, uncomfortable silence falls over them. Louis slowly hobbles to the nearest place he can sit, leaning against some sort of maintenance unit. He avoids meeting Zayn’s eyes even though he can still feel Zayn staring at him.

The pain in Louis’ foot has started to spread from his toes back, and he thinks that it would be just perfect if, on top of everything else, he managed to break a few bones today as well. He drops his head back and stares up at the horribly, cheerfully blue afternoon sky.

Slowly, like he’s approaching a rabid animal, Zayn walks forward and then drops down to sit opposite Louis. Louis continues looking above his head.

After a moment, spurred by some instinct to break the silence (and Louis finds himself in the unique position of finding that personal attribute suddenly annoying), Louis clarifies, “Don’t talk to me.”

Zayn huffs, and crosses his arms over the knees of his slacks. “Fine.”

Louis attempts to distract himself from the pain in his foot by focusing on how long it will take for someone to find them. At least, he tells himself, both of their handlers will now know that they’re missing and will be looking for them. He glances down at his phone, which uselessly informs him that it has no service and that the show is starting in less than half an hour.

Louis finds himself, after a minute of intermittently staring into the distance, trying and failing to text someone, and stretching out his foot, excruciatingly bored. He stands and walks over to the edge of the roof, glancing down at the street below. They’re on the wrong side of the building to be within seeing distance of where the red carpet was. Naturally.

He’s looking at some back alley filled with restaurant dumpsters. Louis debates the merits of making a jump for it and aiming to land in the trash, but ultimately rejects the idea. Wary as he is to have tomorrow’s entertainment headlines read, “Louis Tomlinson Jumps off a Building, Breaks Leg During Cowardly Escape Attempt from Zayn Malik,” he’s even warier to wind up sitting next to Nicki Minaj smelling like cat piss.

He turns back to the roof, only to see Zayn moodily tugging at a shoelace. Unable as he’s ever been to resist picking a fight, Louis drawls, “Bored without your lackeys?”

Zayn glances up sharply, and Louis is pleased to see that he can still draw out that annoyed expression when he wants.

“Right,” Zayn says. “Because anytime I’ve ever had friends outside of yours they must’ve been using me for fame.”

“Not just that,” Louis shoots him a mean smile. “’M sure you do your share of using them for fame too. How’s John Legend doing, then?”

Zayn adopts a tight, closed-off expression that Louis knows to mean he’s embarrassed. The thing about Zayn is that, no matter how many jokes have been made (many by Louis himself) about vanity, the boy has every single one of the self-esteem problems you might expect from someone who experienced the scrutiny associated with being a teenage pop star. Not to mention the vitriol associated with—

Louis cuts the thought off. He experiences a twinge of self-hatred at his tendency to ignore the fact that, as they all always well knew, Zayn had it worse than anyone else.

He refuses to acknowledge it for longer than a few seconds, though. _What does he owe Zayn?_ The rationalization, having occurred to him, boosts his morale. _Zayn is the one who left when he had no right to._

Louis finds himself spurred on to keep goading in the ways that he knows will have an effect.

“That’s right,” he says, walking forward a couple of steps when Zayn finally stands up. “Heard half your album was features. Did the producers—”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Zayn bursts out. His hands are clenched into fists at his side. “I’ve known you for—”

“You don’t _know_ me,” Louis insists sharply.

“You think you can treat me like I’m a stranger?” Zayn tilts his chin up, and Louis can see in his eyes the same vulnerability that shone there whenever Zayn used to get homesick or overwhelmed or— “You think you can get me to snap or something?”

Louis crosses his arms.

“Done it before, haven’t I?” He can hear, to his annoyance, a hint of hesitation in his own voice.

Zayn shakes his head and barks out a laugh. He runs his hands over his face, and his voice is weary as he says, “Yeah, you have. Not that it made any sense.”

Louis opens his mouth to furiously retort, but Zayn continues. He’s glaring at Louis with frustration now.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demands. “Because it’s always you, isn’t it? The others at least understood.”

Louis knows without saying what he’s referring to.

“Nobody _understood_ ,” Louis spits, and he’s surprised that he doesn’t need time to think or formulate a response. The words pour out of him like rehearsed lines, as if he’s been practicing them for years. “You _announced_ that you were leaving, you _announced_ a solo career, and we picked up the pieces because you forced us to. The others were just polite enough not to mention it, or— or they knew how useless it would be to try to fight you on it.”

“Yeah? Well the others and everyone else on the planet also let it _go_ ,” Zayn says angrily. “Why can’t you just move on?”

The words are so similar to what Liam said earlier, but coming from Zayn they take on a different meaning, one that feels like it’s been bubbling under the surface of this conversation since it started. It’s too familiar.

“Why can’t I get a life and stop making bitchy comments about yours,” Louis says, in a carefully, dangerously even tone. “Is that what you mean?”

Zayn’s eyes widen in disbelief and his jaw slackens. He straightens up a bit, and though they’re standing more than a few feet apart, it makes their difference in height more noticeable. Louis finds himself holding his breath as he waits for Zayn to say something.

There’s something about the moment, in between when Louis says something that he knows is going to get a big reaction out of someone and when that reaction finally comes through, that Louis has never been able to resist. Especially when it comes to Zayn. It used to be that when he tried to get reactions out of Zayn, they were ones of amusement or astonishment or affection. Zayn could always be relied on to giggle in delight at whatever Louis had to say.

Now, Zayn isn’t giggling. He isn’t grinning and his eyes aren’t twinkling. He looks furious.

“ _Fuck_ you for playing the victim when you started that stupid Twitter fight,” he says. “You knew what you were doing, and you got upset when you were called out on it because you thought you’d get away with it.”

An all-too familiar feeling overtakes Louis.

“Well forgive me,” he says, taking another step forward unconsciously. “For making fun of your _best friend_ Shahid. I know how much you just hate it when people attack him on Twitter. It’s always been clear how much your relationship meant to you.” He feels a triumphant sneer coming on.

To his surprise, though, Zayn looks more annoyed than ashamed. He takes a step forward himself, and now they’re a scant distance apart.

“Nothing about how you handled me leaving had anything to do with him and you know it,” Zayn says.

Once again, he’s unknowingly echoing Liam, though he’s not completely right. But Louis doesn’t care to correct him at this point, not when Louis can finally say what he’s about to say. He relishes the opportunity, the perfect opening that Zayn has given him, because finally all the righteous indignation he’s been feeling for the past two years is going to amount to something.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll make it what it was really about. You abandoned us.”

Suddenly, surprisingly, Zayn looks undeniably hurt. Louis can’t fully appreciate the moment as a result. He had thought that by now Zayn would be used to the accusation. God knows enough fans had voiced it, with various degrees of malice and sadness. But maybe there’s something different about having it said to his face. Maybe there’s something different about Louis being the one to say it.

Part of Louis wants to get vindictive pleasure out of the thought that he caused some unique type of hurt for Zayn, did something that no one else could’ve done with quite the same results. But for some reason, the thought makes a part of him ache.

“That’s not true,” Zayn says finally, his eyes wide and young.

Louis doesn’t know what he expected. Maybe another “fuck you,” maybe a scoff, maybe even a “yeah, so what?” Whatever it was that he thought Zayn was going to say, it wasn’t that. But the next words come tumbling out of his mouth even as his mind is still trying to process what to say.

“You abandoned _me_ , then,” he insists, his tone lower. “You were my best friend, and instead of letting me be there for you, instead of coming to me if you were stressed or tired or whatever, you— you just left. Because it meant nothing to you.”

Because _I_ meant nothing to you is what he means, but he realizes that it goes unsaid.

“You’re—” Zayn sighs with frustration. “You’re so _fucking_ selfish. You didn’t want me to stay so you could hold my hand whenever I got sad. You wanted me to stay because my leaving was a pain in the ass. It never occurred to you that leaving might be what was best for me, because you couldn’t be arsed enough to pay attention to what I was dealing with.”

“You think I didn’t pay attention?” Louis asks in disbelief. “Who was it accusing me of being too obsessed with your life? I _constantly_ paid you attention. While you were busy playing around in studios with your new producers, my family and friends were _begging_ me to pay less attention to you. And you—”

Zayn takes a final step forward, and now they’re mere inches apart. Louis can’t bring himself to breathe, they’re so close. Zayn looks reckless, tugs his hands through his hair in frustration, and Louis might think he was about to throw a punch if it wasn’t for the way that his hazel eyes are gleaming and dilated and almost desperately hopeful.

“Well, then, you stopped following what I was doing too early, Lou. Because if you had bothered listening to a second of that album, you would’ve known that I’ve always—”

Suddenly, the rooftop door bangs open. Louis and Zayn both jump in surprise, nearly crashing into each other, and turn towards it. From the doorway, a sweaty, red-faced, and utterly harassed-looking intern sticks his head out. He heaves a sigh of relief when he sees Louis and Zayn.

The intern deftly unlocks his cell and places a call, gasping, “I’ve found them, I have them here,” into the receiver. Louis glances over at Zayn, whose face is suddenly carefully blank.

“No,” the intern says, scanning their faces quickly. “Yes. I will.” He ends the call, stuffs the phone in his pocket, and beckons them towards him. “We still have time, we still have time, let’s go, c’mon.”

It’s a testament to how panicked some higher ups must have been at the thought of losing one of the biggest conflicts (attractions, really) associated with the show, that the intern is frazzled enough not to show deference for two pop stars.

As if on autopilot, Zayn walks forward and passes the guy to get through the door. Louis stays back for a moment, feeling frozen in indecision. Part of him is screaming to just follow them and get back to the theater and pretend none of this ever happened. Another part of him—

“Ohmygod, _please_ hurry,” the intern begs, and Louis starts. For a split second more, his feet stay planted to where he’s standing on the rooftop. Then he follows Zayn through the door, down the stairs, across the street, and into the noise and lights of the Grammys.

* * *

 

The boys don’t ask Louis a lot of questions, probably because he’s already drawn more than enough attention with his late entrance. No one missed that he was only a short minute behind Zayn in arriving, either.

They’ve very strategically been assigned seats that are a small but discernible distance away from where Zayn and his friends are. Louis can only imagine how many reaction cams will be firmly focused on the five of them whenever either Zayn or One Direction are being mentioned.

His theory is only too quickly confirmed when Rebel Wilson makes a joke about how Zayn and the band are competing with one another in several categories, and the only way to solve the conflict will be to have them all mud wrestle it out. Louis feels his face get warmer than it should. He shoots a weak smile at one of the cameras looming over him.

Louis can’t tell if time speeds up or slows to a crawl. He just can’t follow the action of the show at all.  His mind is consumed by thoughts of the roof— what had Zayn been about to say?

He’s jolted back to reality when he hears Zayn’s name. Corinne Bailey Rae is reading the nominees for New Artist. There’s the usual long, tense silence as she unfolds the envelope.

“And the winner is… Zayn Malik,” she says warmly. The familiar chords of “Closure” start playing as Zayn stands and gives a few hugs and handshakes, making his way toward the stage.

It’s only after Zayn has taken the award, dropped a kiss to Corinne’s cheek, and turned, beaming, toward the audience, that it occurs to Louis to wonder what exactly he’s going to say.

At first, the answer is, the same thing that every other winner of a nationally televised awards ceremony says. Zayn thanks his record label, managers, and producers, expresses his love for his family, friends, and fans. He’s become less nervous on his own in the spotlight over the years. Just as it seems that he’s finishing, he says quickly, “And there’s one last thing I need to say.”

Louis freezes in his seat. He can’t tell what Zayn’s going to say, if it’s going to be good or bad, but somehow he knows that it’s related to their argument. Would Zayn air their dirty laundry this publicly? Would he call Louis out, seek to humiliate him to his face and to cameras broadcasting to millions of people?

The other boys seem to sense Louis’ sudden anxiety, and tense up a bit themselves, but they know better than to glance at him in confusion or concern. That would only attract the attention of one of the cameras.

Zayn is looking out from the stage, and, as if drawn by some external force, his eyes meet Louis’. Louis can see something desperate in Zayn. He’s clearly dying to say whatever it is that he’s about to say, but for whatever reason, he’s waiting.

Several seconds pass. The pause has become awkward and prolonged, making people sit up in their chairs with curiosity. Zayn stares at Louis for a split second more, with something almost like longing in his expression. But before Louis has time to consider why Zayn would look at him like that, Zayn has torn his gaze away.

“Thank you very much,” he croaks, and walks off the stage.

* * *

 

Louis couldn’t tell you what happens over the next half hour of the show if his life depended on it. He sits there, staring at the various artists and celebrities coming and going on the stage, with unseeing eyes. He’s absorbed with Zayn.

Zayn on the roof, about to burst out some secret that had something to do with his album. Zayn on the stage, utterly commanding the theater but unable to bring himself to say something that he obviously wanted to. And, more than anything else, Zayn’s gorgeous voice, singing “Closure” again and again through Louis’ laptop speakers so many months ago.

Louis, sitting in his room with the door double-locked on the day of the release, had listened to that album more times than he could count. He had it memorized by the end. He listened to it with unexpected tears pouring down his face, tears that he had angrily wiped away.

The lyrics of “Closure” play over and over again in his mind as he stares at Rebel Wilson making another joke. He starts to realize. The lyrics are too bittersweet.

The eponymous emotion can’t be the sigh of relief that so many fans— that Louis himself— had thought it was. The song is so glaringly obvious now that he thinks about it properly, thinks about it in the context of Zayn’s aggravation on the roof, his tortured silence on the stage. The song is about being forced to let go of someone because you’ve both blocked off access to yourselves. The singer can’t reach the lover, the lover can’t reach the singer. By the end, neither can bring themselves to even try.

The song is simple. It’s nothing more or less than an aching resignation to the inevitable loss of a relationship.

And… Louis is finally starting to realize that the relationship isn’t the one between Zayn and the band.

He’s not really sure what grand revelations feel like. He’s never had one before, himself.

Is this what Einstein or Newton or Curie felt like at some point? It’s kind of like a much more intense, life-threatening, terrifying, exhilarating roller coaster, he thinks. Everything is upside down and sideways and going about a thousand miles an hour. Everything’s different, but. It feels right. It’s like he’s discovered some possibility that’s so inarticulably amazing that it’s changed the entire world around him.

Louis is so caught up in his own head that he honestly doesn’t realize Song of the Year has been announced until Niall stands up, tugs Louis with him, and gives him a tight hug.

The “Where You Went” chorus is playing over the sounds of applause. It makes Louis properly jolt back to himself. As Niall lets him go and turns to Harry, Liam steps up, grips him gently by the neck, and pulls him in for a hug.

“I know something’s up,” Liam whispers as he pats Louis on the back a few times. “But we just won _Song of the Year_ , yeah? Enjoy it. We’ll fix whatever’s wrong later, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. He finds himself beaming and squeezes Liam in his arms before they have to end the hug. “Yeah.”

Louis lets the other boys lead the way to the stage. He’s tempted to turn, dying to see if Zayn is happy for them or disappointed to have lost or diplomatically clapping for the cameras. But he can’t look just yet. He needs to get up there first.

Niall smacks a comically wet kiss onto LL Cool J’s cheek as he accepts the award. Liam, his eyes crinkling with the size of his grin, takes the microphone first.

“This is such an amazing honor,” he says. “We have to thank our producers, Julian and John, who helped make this song and so many others. Thanks to Columbia as well, and we want to thank our families for their support.”

Liam glances at the rest of them, takes a step to the side, and nods at Harry. Harry leans forward and takes the mic.

“We always say we’d be nowhere without our fans, and that’s never been more true than tonight,” he adds, and the audience takes it as a conclusion, beginning to applaud again. Louis takes a deep breath and steps forward. Harry, still smiling, passes the mic to him.

Louis looks out into the audience and wishes that he had any idea what the hell he was doing.

“It’s funny,” he says. “Um, people always seem to be asking Zayn about ‘Closure’ and what it means.” As if by magic, everyone in the auditorium simultaneously freezes when Louis says Zayn’s name. Next to him, the boys immediately stop fidgeting with excitement.

“But when we wrote ‘Where You Went,’ nobody really asked about how it was inspired. I guess because this was our second album since Zayn left, so everyone thought, y’know, that we’d got him out of our systems, like.” Louis chances a glance down at Zayn. Zayn’s eyes are so wide that Louis can see them getting bigger even from a distance. Louis swallows, adjusts the mic in his hand, and continues.

“I… I never got Zayn out of my system. I never could and I don’t think I ever will.”

Zayn is utterly slack-jawed. Louis can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking anything besides “what the fuck.” Some murmuring starts to go through the crowd, but Louis knows they’re going to start playing the wrap-it-up music any second now, and he has to finish before he loses this chance forever.

“I just want to say that you were right, Zayn. I didn’t pay attention, because if I had, then the first million times I listened to your album I would’ve realized what— what I think maybe you wanted me to realize. And I’m starting to understand now, why you went where you did, and— and I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to understand that before. Just— wanted to say that I’m sorry for that.”

Louis turns to very carefully walk off the stage. He doesn’t realize that he’s still holding the mic in his hands until he’s backstage. Someone holds a hand out for it and he numbly gives it to them.

“It’s this way toward the press room,” the guy says, and he must be a stagehand or something. Louis straightens up, nods, and heads in the direction that they point. Before he can make it more than a couple of steps, though, he feels Harry’s big, warm hand grip his shoulder.

“Can we take just a minute to talk to each other first, please?” Harry asks the stagehand, smiling charmingly. The guy glances at his watch, then his clipboard, and then nods.

Then the boys are steering Louis into some side room. Louis sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. He stops as soon as he’s stepped through the doorway, refusing to go further into the room. Undeterred, the boys file around him and stand in a semicircle facing him and the door.

“Are you going to tell us what the hell’s going on, then?” Niall asks, not unkindly. He’s still glowing with euphoria from the win, but a gleam of curiosity and a hint of knowingness is in his eyes.

Louis shrugs. “Boosted their ratings, didn’t I? Got myself made into Meme of the Week or summat.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Lou.”

Louis feels his face heat up a bit. He kicks at the leg of a nearby coffee table.

“Got accidentally locked on a roof,” he mumbles. “Zayn was there.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. Louis ignores him.

“So we got into it about Twitter and Naughty Boy and him leaving. And then I, um, basically was like, you didn’t care about the band and you abandoned us—”

Liam sighs in disappointment and Niall looks uncomfortable. Still, Louis powers through.

“—And then he said I wasn’t paying attention. And I was like, of course I was paying attention, you were off making new music and things. And then he started to say something, but then we got rescued.” Louis finally stops. It feels like he’s been rambling for ages. Surely they’re expected in the press room by now.

“Well? What’d he start to say?” Liam asks.

Louis stares at him for a bit, unsure how to proceed. How ridiculous will it sound if he tries to explain to them what he thought Zayn was saying? How awful will it be when they look at him with pity, eyes wide when he describes how he constructed some elaborate fantasy about Zayn having feelings for him and it being some sort of hidden message in his album?

“Same thing I started to say up on the stage. I started to say that I’ve always loved him.”

Louis feels like the floor has dropped out from under him. He forgets to breathe as he whirls around to see Zayn standing behind him in the open doorway.

“ _What_?” he asks, because he can’t dare to believe what he just heard.

Zayn smiles, deeply flushed, and shrugs his shoulders. His tie is loosened around his neck and one of his feet is nervously tapping on the ground. “Bit dramatic and embarrassing, huh?”

Louis feels like about a thousand bombs are going off in his head, so really, it’s a miracle that he’s capable of speaking at all. His mouth is dry, but he finally manages to get out, “Probably not as dramatic or embarrassing as apologizing to the subject of your breakup song in front of everyone at the Grammys.”

He can’t look away from Zayn, can’t even seem to blink for fear of losing sight of the fond look in Zayn’s eyes. It’s an expression he never would’ve guessed he’d see Zayn make in his presence again. It’s an expression he hasn’t seen for more than two years now.

“Dunno about that,” Zayn says softly. He takes a careful step forward, never looking away from Louis’ eyes. Louis tries to tell himself that he doesn’t feel faint. “Big grand gesture. People love that shit.”

Niall coughs not-so-subtly from behind him. Louis blinks, suddenly realizes how close he and Zayn are to each other, and wonders how he had managed to forget that they weren’t alone in the room that quickly.

That moment, a stagehand sticks her head in and says, “No time for the press room now, I have to get you all back in the audience for Album of the Year.”

Before Louis can process it or say anything, they’re being herded away, through sets of doors and hallways and finally, back into the auditorium.

Zayn gets directed to his own separate seat in a different row, which seemed close earlier but now feels ages away from where Louis is. He doesn’t have long to reflect on it, though, as the winner for Album of the Year is already being announced.

“And the Grammy goes to… Adele!”

Louis gets up to join the standing ovation, and tonight he doesn’t have to fake the beaming smile. He feels like he’s won more than enough, after all.

* * *

 

After the show is over, things get ridiculous. There are people everywhere trying to go in all directions, and Louis is lucky to keep a hold of the boys, who are right next to him, much less keep up with wherever Zayn has got to. Before he can go looking, their handlers begin directing them to where cars are coming to pick them up.

From there, it’s a long couple of hours’ worth of getting to the hotel, getting changed, getting their hair done yet again, getting back into the cars, and finally making it through traffic to the after-party.

Louis finds himself nervously tapping his fingers against his thighs once they get inside, wondering whether or not Zayn will show up, or if he’s changed his mind, or if—

Suddenly, Zayn is standing right in front of him, a shy smile blooming on his face.

“I just realized,” Zayn says, taking a small step forward. “For the first time tonight, we’re where we’re supposed to be, not on rooftops or in side rooms being pains in the arses of interns.”

Louis snorts in amusement and opens his mouth to respond, but before he can—

“So can I finally kiss you then?” Zayn asks. 

Louis can count on one hand the number of times in his life that he’s been truly speechless. This is one of them.

Giving up on verbal communication, Louis nods furiously, and Zayn closes the final distance between them. He wraps a hand around Louis’ waist and cups the other one behind the back of Louis’ head. Louis only has a second to register the touches before he’s being consumed by the kiss.

Zayn’s lips are warm and gentle, and they press against Louis’ so softly. Louis doesn’t understand how it is that they’re kissing right now, or for that matter, how the kiss isn’t at all combative or angry or characterized by the least bit of repressed tension. It’s so much better than any of the fantasies that Louis’ ever allowed himself to have in his quietest moments, either before or after Zayn left. It’s so much _realer_.

**Author's Note:**

> Louis making a heartfelt confession in an awards acceptance speech was partly inspired by [Ferritin4's "Like a Hole in the Head"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1180369), which is amazing and which you need to go read if you haven't already. 
> 
> Louis and Zayn writing breakup albums about each other was partly inspired by [SilviaKundera's "Verse, Chorus, and Such"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/804872), which is an hysterically funny Social Network fic. Do yourself a favor and read this one too. 
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing 1D, so any feedback you might have would be especially appreciated!
> 
> I'm [here](http://zcinmalik.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr


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